


A Bit of Power

by pterawaters



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Demon Stiles, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-13
Updated: 2013-01-13
Packaged: 2017-11-25 06:58:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/636307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pterawaters/pseuds/pterawaters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek has always known that Stiles is human, until the day demons come looking for him. Now he has to decide whether to leave Stiles to fend on his own, or make a deal for mutual protection and keep hiding Stiles as part of his pack. What seems like it should be a simple decision really, really isn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Bit of Power

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the teen wolf reverse bang over on LJ. Bit thanks to [xxxholiclover](http://xxxholiclover.livejournal.com/) for the art prompt. I had a lot of fun writing your idea!

Mud squelches, thick and cold, between Derek's fingers when he catches himself with one palm, his other arm cradled close to his chest while the shattered bones heal. He's lost so much blood, healed so many wounds in the last fifteen minutes that it's a miracle he's still fighting. But who else will fight? They came on so fast and there were so many of them that the pack was overwhelmed before Derek could even blink.

All of his betas are down and Allison sounds like she's close to death, her heartbeat sluggish and the scent of her blood everywhere. Stiles' head is cracked open against a tree. Despite the surrounding forest, Derek feels trapped by the ring of cocky, angry boots around him, kicking dirt and leaves in his face and shooting him in the back with another poisoned arrow. It's not wolf's bane, so he'll survive, but it hurts so much that Derek wants to cry, wants to smash everything to tiny little bits, wants to tear out someone's throat and laugh with the blood dripping from his mouth. 

Boyd makes one last attack, clawing one of the men's faces and snapping his neck before the man in charge runs him through with a sword. It must have nicked his heart, because Derek hears the strong thud-thud shudder and fail, the light of Boyd's yellow eyes dimming as he falls to the ground. A few seconds later, the wound heals and Boyd's heart starts again, but he doesn't move, eyes still staring ahead. Maybe Boyd's playing dead, maybe he's too wounded to move, or maybe he is dead, but his body doesn't know it yet. Derek doesn't know what he'll do if he loses another pack member. Probably nothing. 

He's only ever done a few things right, and this battle absolutely does not make the list. 

Derek roars with impotent rage, struggling up onto his feet and rushing at the leader, only to be thrown back by an invisible force before he even gets there. His spine cracks when he hits the ground, making his legs useless, but Derek pushes himself up to sitting anyway, unable to take the defeat until he's well and truly dead.

"Aw," the leader pouts in mock sympathy. "Does somebody need this lesson again?" 

Derek growls back, "Looks like. I mean, I'm not real sure what you're going for here." 

He laughs. "Oh, that's too good! You don't even know why we're here! You, my friend, have been harboring a fugitive in your pack. We're here to bring him back where he belongs." As he speaks, the man saunters over to Stiles' body and kicks him in the ribs with his boot. Stiles grunts, but doesn't respond otherwise. He's probably barely conscious. 

"Stiles?" Derek asks, sure that this guy is making a mistake. "He's just a dumb kid." 

"His name is Il'paymon and he's anything but 'just a kid'," the man replies with a wicked grin, stooping to grab Stiles by the collar and hauling him up so the two of them are face to face. Speaking to Stiles' unconscious form, he says, "You're finally going back to where you belong. And oh, how my master has _missed you_!" When he turns his head to his men and says, "Kill all of them. Behead the wolves, starting with their leader," Stiles' eyes flick open. Instead of their normal amber irises ringed with white sclera, Stiles' eyes are now completely black. 

In the same moment that Stiles pulls a silver knife edged in runes out from somewhere on his person and buries it in the leader's chest, all of his men fly off of their feet, up and out in a circle away from Stiles, powered by an invisible force. The leader screams, his mouth pointed skyward as bright yellow light bursts from his throat, his eyes, his nose. Stiles pulls out the knife and shoves it home again purely out of spite, Derek is sure, because whatever the leader was he's clearly not it anymore, his body slumping dead to the ground. 

Before Derek's adrenaline crashes and he passes out he hears Stiles mutter, "I'm _not_ going back there. And _no one_ messes with what's mine. You got that?" he screams at the men around them, who disgorge gallons upon gallons of black smoke, like they're vomiting up pure evil and can't get rid of it fast enough. 

Derek thinks maybe Stiles is laughing as the blackness closes around him, but it barely sounds like the voice he knows after a year and a half of misadventures together since Scott was bitten. 

~~**~~

When Derek wakes up, the astringent scent on the air tells him he's in Deaton's clinic, on the floor in one of the exam rooms, which means he must have survived with his head still on his shoulders. He's having a difficult time remembering exactly what happened, but he's fairly certain Stiles saved his life. Again. For a human with absolutely no special powers, Stiles comes through for Derek a lot. It's the main reason he hasn't been kicked out of the pack yet, despite his tendency to torture Derek with a never-ending barrage of jittery noises that fill any silence. 

Derek used to like silence. Now it always feels odd, like something's missing. Like someone. 

As he sits up the room starts to spin, so he puts his head between his knees and focuses on listening to the heartbeats in the building, counting them. Three cats, five dogs, and six humans beside himself. The bell on the front door rings as it opens and Derek changes his count to seven. Through a wall or two, Derek hears Stiles ask, "How are they?" He sounds normal and Derek can't wrap his brain around why "normal" isn't what he expected. 

"Healing," Deaton replies somberly. Jesus. Derek wonders how bad off they'd been. He knows Boyd had taken the most hits, but the distinct sound of his heart from the other room is strong and steady. Perfect. He thinks the other hearts sound like the rest of the betas, Jackson included, and a long, slow breath through his nose tells him they're in the building. "Would you like to see them?" 

"Are they awake?" 

"I think Scott might be. Derek was starting to move around more when I checked on him last." 

Hearing Deaton talk about him makes Derek's heart jump a little, just out of acknowledgement that yes, he is awake and yes, he does hear people talking about him as if he wasn't. Head no longer feeling like it might fall off, Derek stands carefully, using the edge of the exam table for support. He's dressed in green scrubs which are slightly too small, especially in the length of the legs above his bare feet, but at least he _is_ clothed. 

Unbidden, the memory of being caught by Stiles, completely naked, after his first run in full alpha form crosses Derek's mind. Stiles had choked on the granola bar he'd been munching on as he drove through the woods to the pack's meeting place and Derek had to give him the Heimlich before he died. While Derek was still naked. Neither of them talked of that day ever again, as per their silent agreement. Derek supposed that feeling uneasy in ill-fitting clothes makes the comparison between then and this situation now easy. 

Padding across the linoleum floor in his bare feet, Derek goes out to meet Stiles and Deaton, hoping he can get some answers about how the fight ended and how he'd gotten back here. As Derek walks, Stiles tells Deaton, "Allison's doing better. It sounds like she's going to pull through. Dad's blaming her attack on the ... well, on the bodies. After I gave my statement, it was difficult for them to want to follow any other leads, y'know?" 

"Y- Ah, Derek!" Deaton changes course halfway through the first word of his response when he sees Derek. "How are you feeling?" 

Meeting Stiles' eyes is nothing short of a surreal experience as Derek suddenly remembers them filled with the darkest black. He sniffs the air, but only catches the familiar scents of Stiles, Deaton, and the clinic. He smells human, but, "What _are_ you?" 

"Derek!" Stiles complains with a mock-hurt grin, holding his hand to his chest like he's about to clutch a string of pearls. "It's just me ..." He laughs awkwardly. "...Stiles!"

Derek sees the way Deaton's watching him, so he shakes his head and says, "No, you're right. Sorry. What happened?" He vows to bring it up again once he can get Stiles alone. He listens to Deaton and Stiles explain about the group of hunters that almost eradicated them and can't help but point out in his head every instance where Stiles' version of events doesn't match Derek's slowly returning memories. 

Something is very wrong here. 

~~**~~

Deaton's half in (platonic) love with Stiles, just like Scott, so Derek knows he can't ask the vet about what he's seen. That leaves either Peter, or Chris Argent. Peter will tell Derek to kill Stiles just to make sure, so Derek waits outside the hospital, leaning on Argent's SUV until visiting hours are over and the nurses kick out Chris from his daughter's room. "What do you want, Derek?" He sounds exhausted and maybe like he understands losing your entire family almost as well as Derek does. 

"Information," Derek replies, watching as Chris' mouth drops a little and his eyes flick back toward the hospital. "Not about her," he assures the hunter, completely not in the mood for a bullet to the chest, should Chris get offended. "Just about a ... _creature_ I might have seen." 

Chris sighs loudly and pinches the bridge of his nose like his head is throbbing. It's late. He probably just wants to go home and sleep, but Derek _needs_ to know. After a moment, Chris asks, "What sort of creature?" 

"It looks human, but its eyes..." Derek replies, forcing himself not to shudder at the memory of Stiles' eyes turning unnaturally pitch-black. "Its eyes can turn black. Completely black. And it can ... what's it called, move things with its mind." 

Rolling his neck, Chris asks, "Does it react to Holy Water?" 

This time it's Derek's turn to be surprised. He never thought Holy Water actually did anything. It's just water. What difference could a priest praying over it make? "I ... don't know." 

"Will you be seeing this _creature_ anytime soon?" Chris asks, digging into his jacket pockets. At Derek's curt nod, he hands over a small plastic bottle filled with clear liquid. "If it burns when you pour some of this on it, it's a demon." 

Derek's still trying to figure out how to ask if he means that demons actually exist when Chris closes his driver's side door and starts the engine of his SUV. He's gone before Derek can even think to slip back into the shadows toward his Camero. 

A demon. 

Stiles might be a demon. Not a shape shifter. Not some sort of witch or even an alien. A _demon_. Derek can't quite wrap his brain around the possibility. So he doesn't. He doesn't stay up until sunrise trying to analyze what a demon would want with his pack of teenage werewolves. He doesn't ask why a demon would want to what...? _Possess_ Stiles? He doesn't wonder how long it's been there and why no one has noticed. Except he does. 

~~**~~

Two weeks later, just after Allison has been released from the hospital, Derek manages to corner Stiles at the Stilinski house. Alone. "You are going to tell me what you are," Derek growls. "And you are going to tell me _now_."

Stiles rolls his eyes and says, "I don't know what you're talking about, dude. I'm just your average, mild-mannered-"

"Cut the shit, Stiles," Derek fumes, grabbing Stiles by the throat and lifting just enough that Stiles can tell he's serious. "What. Are. You?" 

Voice a little strangled until Derek loosens his grip, Stiles replies, "I'm the same as I've always been. Why does it even matter now? Haven't I proven that you can trust me?" 

The question unnerves Derek, so instead of answering, he pulls from his jacket pocket the bottle of Holy Water Chris gave him. Popping the top with his thumb, he flings some of it at Stiles' bare arms. They sizzle, steam rising from the points where the water meets skin, and Stiles shrieks and tries to struggle away. Derek holds him firm against the wall. "Fuck! Ow! Shit, Derek! What the freaking hell was that?" 

"Holy water," Derek replies.

"Fuck you." Stiles' voice sounds harsher, almost emotionless and Derek only remembers hearing it that way once before. On that night. His voice goes back to normal then, like Stiles has remembered what part he's playing. "Who told you that was Holy Water? It's probably acid! Ow!"

"You think so?" Derek asks, looking directly into Stiles' dead-as-night eyes. The Holy Water must have startled them to the fore. "Your true nature is showing," he says with a nod to Stiles' eyes before letting him go. He takes a few steps back, because he remembers what Stiles is capable of when he's not pretending to be human.

Stiles blinks a few times before his eyes go back to normal and he sighs, "Well, shit," letting his head clunk back against the wall. Thumbing at a small burn on his arm, Stiles lowers himself to the ground and wraps his arms around his knees. Derek wasn't sure what he expected from a demon, but it wasn't this. "Don't tell Scott?" 

Disarmed by surprise and confusion, Derek drops back onto Stiles' bed and asks, "What?" 

"Scott. I-I needed to blend in, when my body was too small to safely use my power. I befriended Scott because I needed him. It was only _later_ that I started actually liking him. I don't think I could stand it if he found out." 

Derek tilts his head. Maybe this _is_ the same Stiles as he's always known. Maybe he's something else, something benign, and Chris Argent really did give him acid instead of Holy Water.

When Derek notices he's being watched, Stiles' wide grin turns into a cold, inhuman laugh. He juts his arms out in front of him as counterbalance and stands up, his eyes going black again and his entire posture shifting just enough away from normal that he gives off a chilling air which makes Derek feel sick and strangely compelled at the same time. He stands so Stiles will be the one looking up, even just the inch or so Derek has over him.

"Isn't it amazing," Stiles says, stopping to stand right in front of Derek, a little too close for comfort, "how many lies you can tell with the truth? It's like a game. One I've been playing for a long, long time, Derek."

Derek growls and snaps his teeth at Stiles, just barely resisting the urge to barrel him down and rip out his throat for this betrayal. He hits an invisible wall of force and can't advance toward Stiles anymore. Stiles steps back to lean against his desk while Derek is as good as trapped with the backs of his knees pressed to the bed.

Stiles laughs and says, "Relax, dude! _Jesus_ , that was a _joke_! Kind of. Well, not really. But the scary demon tone was a joke! Get it?"

Derek fights back the heat threatening his embarrassed cheeks and tests the limits of Stiles' hold as he snarls, "No."

"Because you were always the scary one," Stiles explains, picking up a pen from his desk and twirling it in his fingers. "Or at least you thought you were, before you knew what I can do."

Derek's not even sure he knows exactly what Stiles can do, and that unnerves him more than he'd ever admit, because he doesn't know how to fight a demon. He doesn't know how to fight _Stiles_. He growls low in his throat, a warning he hopes Stiles doesn't know Derek can't back up.

Stiles tilts his head for a moment, just chewing on the pen and watching Derek without a flicker of fear on his face. Then he asks, "What are you thinking?"

Derek doesn't want to tell the truth, so he says, "I'm thinking about ripping your throat out."

Stiles laughs, a sharp, bright bark of disbelief. "Yeah, and I'm the Queen of England. God, I miss being able to read minds, though. Yours seems like it would either be super amusing or the most boring mind ever. _Run. Kill. Eat. Hump._ "

Derek snorts a humorless laugh. It's more like, _Guilt. Guilt. Pack. Guilt. Maybe I should eat something. Guilt._ He's not going to say that out loud, though. The less information this demon has about him the better. In fact, Derek really should know more about what he's facing here, so he asks, "Why can't you?"

"What? Read minds?" Stiles asks, waiting for Derek's nod. 

He feels a sudden release of air pressure, like letting out a breath he'd been holding, and Derek realizes that Stiles must have lowered the barrier between them. Perhaps as a show of faith? Derek doesn't take advantage of the opening. He'll bide his time, especially if he can learn more about his enemy. The last year under Peter's tutelage has taught him a small modicum of patience. Stiles puts his pen down and crosses his arms over his chest, like he's actually upset about the situation. 

"The human soul gets in the way," he says softly, and Derek isn't sure whether to believe him or to admit that Stiles is a far better actor than Derek has ever suspected. "It's all I hear. My own human thoughts, this body, the pressure of the clock ticking away this mortal life until I have to ... Do you think a demon could do enough good in the world to–" He points up and Derek understands he's talking about Heaven, like it actually exists.

"That doesn't seem po–" Derek starts to say, but Stiles cuts him off.

"Because I'm not– I mean, I _am_ a demon, but I'm human, too. And I didn't mean to kill her. I didn't even know I was doing it until it was too late. She loved me so much and I tried to fix her. _I tried._ "

Derek's mouth drops open in surprise as Stiles wipes tears away from his eyes and looks up, blinking, like that will stop them from falling.

"Sorry," Stiles says with a watery laugh. "I've never told anyone that before."

Derek studies Stiles' face and the emotions there are so familiar – the guilt, the shame, the grief, the battle between human nature and other – that Derek wonders if Stiles is putting on another show, acting for Derek's benefit. Maybe he thinks it will foster some sort of false camaraderie. Derek decides to test him with a question. "How did you do it?"

Stiles takes a sharp breath and furrows his brows at Derek. "Kill her?" Derek nods. Stiles takes another deep breath and lets it out halfway before saying, "I needed energy to keep this body running, to keep it from burning out, and I just started doing it in my sleep. My mom used to sleep in my bed on the nights my dad was out on patrol." Stiles huffs with a nostalgic smile. "She used to say she needed to feel someone else's heart beating so she could sleep."

If this is a game, a scene in the grand play Stiles is putting on, it's a fucking convincing one. 

"Sh-she started getting sick and the doctors couldn't figure out what was wrong. My brain, well, it was hard to think in the body of an attention-deficit nine-year-old. Otherwise I'm sure I would have noticed what I was doing, that _I_ was killing her." He laughs again and wipes a tear from his eye. "They never forbade me from seeing her, or from taking naps in her bed. They should have.

"Anyway, right before she died, I figured out what I was doing and when I tried to stop..."

"It killed her?" Derek guessed, knowing more than a little about good intentions gone awry.

"Well, yes," Stiles replied, and Derek expected him to roll his eyes, but he didn't, instead chewing on his thumbnail for a moment. "But it also merged my demon soul, or essence or whatever, with my human one. I'm not sure what I am, but I know I'm not a demon possessing a human body anymore."

Derek wants to ask whether or not Stiles is fucking with him, but he's sure he won't believe the answer either way. Instead he asks, "Is that why you smell human?"

Stiles looks up at him like he's having a difficult time comprehending what Derek said. Lost in his thoughts, maybe? He seems to shake it off before responding, "Oh, no. That's a precaution. Here."

Derek watches Stiles close his eyes and then all of a sudden, a different scent floods the room. It's still Stiles, but it's laced with a dark, sinful odor, like chocolate and sulfur and sex. It makes Derek's mouth water. He stuffs the reaction away, though not before Stiles must see, because he raises an eyebrow in a silent question.

"Nope," Derek says curtly, trying to breathe through his mouth, "not human."

Stiles closes his eyes again and furrows his brow, making the scent disappear back into the normal Stiles-scent Derek recognizes, but Derek feels like he craves that other, darker scent. It's a stupid thought and Derek pushes it away. before he fully acknowledges what it is. Stiles gives Derek a long, searching look that makes Derek think that again he's wishing he could read Derek's mind. Rolling his eyes at the strained, pseudo-constipated look on Siles face as he appears to try it (or some other spell Derek would rather not know about), Derek asks, "What do you want?"

"A vacation in the Bahamas," Stiles replies without missing a beat. Derek gives him a glare and Stiles relents. "Okay, okay. I get it, just don't like _bite_ me. It looks really uncomfortable." Derek sighs and makes a gesture for Stiles to get on with it. "I'm hiding out from my boss downstairs for a few hundred years, until he hopefully forgets about me. Need someplace inconspicuous to hang out for a while. Maybe we could make a deal?"

Something cold in Stiles' human-colored eyes makes Derek shiver and want to push the demon away. His instincts are at war with one another because Stiles smells like he always has, trustworthy, but Derek knows it's a lie. Still, his curiosity and the impressive display of grief over his mother's death has Derek asking, "What sort of deal?"

Quirking a smile like he's surprised Derek would entertain the idea in the slightest, Stiles lifts his chin and says, "You keep my secret, give me a place in your pack to hide–"

A question niggling at his brain makes Derek interrupt, "Don't they already know where you are?"

Stiles shrugs. "I doubt that jag-off would have told anyone. He wanted the glory of capturing me for himself. He's annihilated, though. Not exactly in the right shape for telling tales. Ever."

"And his friends?"

"Low level flunkies no one would ever believe. So, the deal?" Stiles pauses like he's waiting for Derek to interrupt him with more questions. Derek keeps his mouth shut. "You keep my secret, I protect your pack using my phenomenal cosmic powers. Deal?"

Furrowing his brow, because he's not so sure this is a good idea, Derek takes a moment to think it over. He's a new alpha with a completely green pack. His chances of surviving the next five years are next to nothing. Of course, having a wanted fugitive from Hell – _Hell!_ – in his pack paints a big target on their backs. Then something Stiles said hits Derek just right and he has to ask, "Did you just quote _Aladdin_?"

"What?" Stiles asks, mock-offended. "A half demon can't enjoy Disney movies?"

Derek decides not to tell Stiles that Aladdin was his favorite movie growing up and that even though he hadn't watched it in ten years, he could probably recite most of it from memory. Something about the outsider boy getting the girl by being himself had really spoken to Derek when he was a child. It turned out real life was more like a Shakespearean tragedy than a Disney movie. Derek didn't watch either anymore.

"Why should I trust someone who's half evil incarnate?" Derek asks, seriously wanting to know. His grandmother had been human, and Catholic, and if she'd even caught wind of Derek entertaining this deal of Stiles', she would have disowned him.

She’s dead now, though.

Stiles shrugs in response and says, "Why should I trust someone who's half cursed monster?"

Derek doesn't think of being a werewolf as being cursed, he just _is_. He can't think of a way to argue that being a werewolf is nothing like being a half demon. So he looks away instead.

"Oh, don't be like _that_!" Stiles insists, his tone placating as he steps forward to cup a hand around Derek's elbow. Derek doesn't push him away. "I'm just saying, we creatures of the night have to stick together if we're going to make a living for ourselves, right?"

Derek sighs. Having Stiles around is a big fat liability, seeing as there are _demons_ out for his blood. But on the other hand, there are much more present threats, like that pack to the north that Derek just _knows_ is pissed that he has reclaimed his parents' territory. If he can keep Stiles with him, keep him close, Derek's pack would be safe. 

Clearing his throat, Derek asks, "What sort of demon are you? What can you do?" When Stiles gives him a questioning look, Derek says, "I'd like to make an informed decision here."

"Fair enough. I– um, well, it's funny. I used to be in charge of entertainment. Down, you know, in Hell."

"Is that a euphemism for torture?" Derek can't help but ask, possibilities running through his mind, making him sick to his stomach.

Stiles sticks out his tongue like he's disgusted too. "No. God, no. That's like, above my pay grade, man. Maybe entertainment was a poor choice of words. I was a master of ceremonies. My specialty was introducing the souls of witches once they got to hell. Sort of a, Sabrina this was your teenage witch life, deal."

"I used to like that show," Derek says off-hand, mind still occupied with the thought that Stiles, or whatever his demon name was, must have been good at his job.

"I know, right?" Stiles says with a grin. "The stupid animatronic cat was my favorite. So sassy!"

Stiles makes a face that Derek thinks he would probably find almost cute, in a dorky sort of way, if he still thought Stiles was human. Completely human.

"Why witches?" Derek asks, watching Stiles' face. He wonders if he could ever tell whether Stiles was lying or not.

"Because when I was human," Stiles replies, "– well, the _first_ time – I used to be one. Sold my soul for a bit of power."

_Haven't we all?_ Derek thinks before setting his mind back to the task at hand. "So, what is it you bring to the table here?"

Stiles gives Derek a quick rundown on what he can do (limited telekinesis, exorcisms on demand, other spells, increased strength and durability which come at a cost to his human lifespan) and what he cannot (read minds, teleport, recognize other demons at first sight). "Is that good enough to be accepted into your gang of misfits, Derek?" Stiles asks, shifting from foot to foot like he's nervous.

This is all so much to handle. Not only are demons real, but one of them has been living in his friend, in Stiles since long before Derek knew him. Derek feels like he's drowning in this new information so he asks, "Can I take a few days to think about it?"

A slow smile spreads across Stiles' face and Derek is sure that he'll say yes, of course Derek can take some time to think. Except Stiles says, "Hell, no. I've heard that one before, buddy. As soon as I turn my back, you'll be telling everyone you know and before long, I gotta vamoose. How well d'ya think that's gonna work now that I'm stuck in this teenaged body? Make your decision now or I'm out of here."

How is Derek supposed to make this decision without thinking it over first? He needs more power, yes, but power that he can't control directly is dangerous at best, devastating at worst. He needs more time.

Stiles interrupts his thoughts, saying, "I could sweeten the deal for ya." The thick scent of demon fills the air again and Derek is never going to be able to think again.

Derek drowns in the scent. He draws it in through his mouth, tasting the bittersweet tang of evil and Derek _wants_. He wants to get lost in that scent, any way he can. It's a feeling that scares Derek, but he knows what it's like to be scared. He can deal with being scared. What he's having a harder time dealing with is the fact that he doesn't _know_ that Stiles – human Stiles – is in any position to consent to what the demon is hinting at.

Stiles takes a few steps closer, so close that Derek can feel the heat of his skin. Whispering, he asks, "What do you say?"

Derek has to bite the inside of his lower lip and clench his fists so tightly they ache in order to keep himself under control. The demon's scent is overwhelmingly tempting, and Derek knows that if he keeps Stiles around, he's sure to give into it one day.

But today is not that day.

"No," Derek says, his voice caught in his throat. He coughs and backs up. Louder, he says, "No. You can stay. You can be part of the pack. But we're not doing this." He points his finger back and forth between the two of them.

Stiles gives him a long, searching look and then smiles. "Sure. Whatever you say." The scent dissipates again and Stiles winks. " _Boss_."


End file.
